


Trouble Carries A Revolver

by Zialltops



Series: Trouble Has A Name [2]
Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Bottom Daryl Dixon, But also, Cheating, Hurt Daryl Dixon, Hurt/Comfort, I have issues and I poured them out, I’m just going to start by saying, Limited Comfort, Lots of Hurt, M/M, Oral Sex, POV Daryl Dixon, Porn With Plot, Possessive Rick, Secrets, Shameless Smut, Top Rick, lots if daddy issues, mentioned Daryl/Jesus, theres some mild cheating
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-18
Updated: 2018-12-02
Packaged: 2019-08-25 07:18:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 9
Words: 14,654
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16656682
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zialltops/pseuds/Zialltops
Summary: A lot of moments have lead up to the condition of Daryl Dixon’s life, living on the Grimes farm and sharing a room with the Sheriffs underaged son. Domestication is welcoming until his past starts to creep up on him like the tantalizing gaze of Rick Grimes.(Note: you do not need to read the first fic in this series)





	1. Your Favorite

**Author's Note:**

> If your reading from where we left off in Trouble Has A Rose Tattoo, welcome to the dark side. If you are here solely for this story, please keep in mind that Daryl is dating Ricks “son” Paul (Jesus) “Grimes” who is seventeen.

It’s September in Georgia when it starts to rain. He and Paul have been going strong for months now, but school has defiantly put a toll on the amount of time they get together, they see each other when he gets out of school and on the weekends, when Paul doesn’t have band practice or drama club, or he’s busy hanging out with his friends. Daryl can’t hold it against him for wanting to be a teenager.

Daryl avoids the shop nearly all together. Merle has been making more and more deals with Negan leaving Daryl to fill in the blanks even though he wants to desperately to stay away. He doesn’t want to be the dirty shade-tree mechanic who cooks methamphetamine on the side anymore.

Even on days that Paul leaves to school Daryl lets himself sleep in to avoid phone call after phone call looking for his help. Merely makes it a point to let Daryl know when he finally does answer, that his life is on the line and without his ever so generous help, they would both be tied to a cinderblock and fifteen feet deep in the river by morning. Despite his legion of excuses and tactics, Daryl finds himself gloved up once a week in the old mobile home.  
  
Today is a Wednesday and he wakes up to the room filled with a soft grey and the sound of rain on a tin roof. Everyone should be gone, it’s a weekday so that leaves Daryl alone in the old two-story Grimes house.

He doesn't get dressed beside a pair of lose blue plaid boxers and messy hair. He plans on making coffee and working on the old tractor out back so they can use it come next spring. It’s harvest season right now but they only have empty fields with sad little grass sprouts. Before Hershel left, he confided in Daryl about the fields that were once filled with tall corn stalks, and how he wished their family’s land was still as prosperous. Daryl made it his mission for Hershel to see such a thing again.

He manages to will himself out of bed before nine, yawning as he takes the steps one at a time. Where he thinks he’ll find an empty kitchen, he finds none other than Rick Grimes with a newspaper in hand, probably reading through the classifieds.

Daryl is thirty years old, but with the Sherrif who’s underaged son he shares a bed with staring at him he feels small. “Oh—“ he says in a rough groggy morning voice. “Didn’t think you would be home today.” He says, only pausing for a moment in the stairs before taking them the rest of the way down. He pours himself an oversized mug of coffee and finds the wafer straws in the cupboard.

“Nice to know this is how you choose to walk around when you think no one is home.” The older man says as he flips the page and fixes his—are those glasses? “If no ones home then no harm.” He grumbles and stirs the wafer around in his cup. “And what if my _wife_ is home and you don’t know, then what?”

The sound of the hard droplets on the roof almost drown out the question, but it still hangs in the air heavily. “She ain’t home, so no harm done.” Daryl huffs as he takes on the stairs again. Pulling on an old pair of jeans and a cut off tee shirt, he gives himself five minutes to down his coffee before heading out the back door. He ignores the beating rain and opts to dragging the old tractor into the barn despite the cold downpour. He hooks it to the old yellow truck and yanks it with a point to not asking Rick for assistance. He can go fuck hinself for all Daryl cares.

For months, they’ve had this perpetual feud clawing at their insides. One where, when Rick asks for him to pass the bread at dinner, Daryl ignores him and when Daryl takes a shower, Rick flushed the toilet on purpose just to hear him yelp and slip on the wet floor.

But Daryl can’t blame him for it, if he was the older man and he was fucking his underaged son, probably in his own home, he’d despise him too. He’ll, he probably would have strung him up in the weeping willow out front.

He pushes the tractor into the old barn while the rain pours down even louder without the insulation of the house but the sound is like a symphony of nostalgia. He works until the afternoon, diagnosing his problem and then breaking down the pieces. He shivers for half the day but he can’t for the life of him work up the courage to go back inside and change after he’s sure Rick mocked him from the window while he struggled through mud and muck for a distraction.

He didn’t mean for things to happen like this. He’s not trying to live off of Paul, he has money, he has a home and the means, but here he feels more at home than he ever has, what with Maggie’s secret that keeps her compliant and Paul’s need for clean sheets. Lori always has a job for him but Rick, well.

Rick is a whole other story completely. Rick fights with him nearly constantly, he gives him a look of pure vexation at least three times a day. It takes a lot out of him to stand up to the robust man. But Daryl is strong in his own sort of ways, like his ability to make things work out, is the fact that Lori asks him to open the pickles for her now.

By the time Paul gets off School and he and Lori pull into the driveway, Daryl has the motor torn apart and laid out on an old tarp, trying to seek out what the problem is. It doesn’t take him long before he’s making his way inside to wash up and order the correct parts he needs to fix it.

Paul kisses him a hello, it’s short and sweet and to the point before he makes his way into the kitchen to greet the rest of the family. Maggie usually stumbles in late because, despite her right-minded ideas about the older Dixon, he still has her out at all hours of the night and wrapped around his dangerous and unpredictable persona.

At dinner, after Daryl has showered and is no longer covered in grease and soaked clothes, Paul talks about up and coming homecoming and the possible themes they are sorting through and it isn’t until that moment that he realizes Paul is on the student council, too. He feels like he’s missing something for the whole dinner, but in all honesty, it’s felt like that for the last couple weeks. Like he can’t keep up with everything Paul has going on with school and life.

When it’s late and they finally manage to climb into bed, the rain still coming down in a soft drizzle, Daryl realizes that maybe he just doesn’t quite fit here, right beside Paul, even though it’s where he wants so desperately to be.

* * *

 

When morning comes its still gloomy and Paul has left without waking him to say goodbye. It leaves Daryl to stare at the white ceiling for an hour, trying to work out a way this is supposed to go, yet he can’t find the answer he’s looking for in the popcorn texture overhead. He gets dressed and grabs his backpack. It’s been tucked into the closet for weeks now because up until this moment, he hasn’t felt the need to use it.  
  
He packs up his things and again, takes the stairs, this time well dressed for the cool air.

And again, instead of an empty kitchen, he finds Rick, this time in front of the stove where he’s flipping what smells like French toast onto two big plates. He tries to make his way out the front door as quickly and quietly as he possibly can but there is no sneaking in the rickety old house, especially past the Sheriff.

“Daryl,” the house echoes with his nearly thunderous voice. They meet eyes at the same time with a guilty plea hiding behind Daryl’s hooded eyes. “Where are you going?”

Where Rick is usually hard, stern and angry, he’s soft and curious. Daryl is shackled and striped, walking through the front doors of Alcatraz. The sound of his pattering heartbeat nearly drowns the ringing in his ears but the sound of porcelain plates hitting the solid oak table shoots through him like a forty-five.

“Breakfast?” Rick says it like it _isn’t_ a question, probably because it is not intended to be. Daryl glances through the window on the front door before training his eyes to his old boots against the recently waxed hardwood flood. “I’m uh—“ “Leaving?” Rick is clucking at him, amused but not surprised, to say the least. “Eat breakfast first. I made your favorite.”

And that moment, that moment _right_ there is where every bit of grit and brawn, every ounce of composure and his backbone are ripped out all at once, to be snapped over the bowed, sturdy knee of Rick Grimes.


	2. Guilt

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please keep in mind everything that happpens in this chapter is COMPLETLEY consensual.

__“ _Stop_.”

The silence in the room is absolute anguish. It sticks to his skin and makes the open concept feel small and clammy.

“No. Sit down.” Their at it again, back to the stand off of might and willpower but Daryl caves this time. Ricks force is far too vast for his weak rationality. He drops his bag by the front door with a thud before making his way over to the table that feels as though it is a journey away.

The chair pulls out with a creek and he lets himself sink down at the same time as Rick does. They eat in near silence, the only thing to fill the impending void is the scrape of his fork on the plate. He stuffs his mouth as a tactic to avoid any kind of conversation but his efforts prove to be in vain when Rick speaks.

“We can’t keep doing this.” He says simply but it has never taken words to get Ricks point across. Daryl huffs a sort of ‘what’ before pouring more syrup onto the fluffy stacks.

“The fighting, the hostility. Thought we were supposed to be adults about this.” Rick is sipping on a cup of coffee and he’s got those damn glasses on again. “Ain’t a good example for Paul.” Daryl tries to fit behind his sentence because he _needs_ it to be there like he needs air.

“Paul hasn’t got _anything_ to do with this.” Theres a moment of stillness that follows his words. Daryl tightens up every muscle that runs through him as he prepares to bolt for the door but there Rick is, a strong, tight grip on his wrist.

“You aren’t running, not this time.”

Daryl is faster now though, faster than Rick has time to hold onto him. He leaves the table in a bound but Rick catches him on is way over to the door. He slams it shut and nearly catches Daryl’s oil stained fingers in the jam. “Stop,” he growls, leaving just Daryl and this suffocating need to escape.

“Stop running away from your fucking _problems_ , Daryl.” The Sheriff tells him like any of this at all is Daryl’s to carry alone. “Get away from me,” the younger spits back in a attempt to push Rick but they end up busting already cracked knuckles against each others jaws, Daryl having set the first blow.

It’s the first physical fight they’ve had since Daryl moved into the house and their is no one to put a end to it until Daryl finally admits defeat against the hardwood, blood coating his cheek and Rick holding him in mount with his arm twisted behind his back. Daryl is heaving but not nearly as rough as the hot steaks of air leaving Rick Grimes and painting the back of his neck.

He pushes his arm and it makes Daryl cry out in pain, but not quite begging for it to be over just yet. He whimpers, his legs starting to shake as his heart rate takes over.

“Unpack your shit and finish that fucking tractor. If you want to keep ignoring it, keep skating around it, you aren’t going to hurt Paul in the mean-time.” With that, Rick gets off and heads back to the kitchen table wordlessly.

Daryl has been his own lawmaker for more than a decade but all that he can do when his breathing finally steadies is grab his pack, bring it back upstairs and head to the barn wordlessly. They don’t talk about it for the rest of the day, or at dinner (he assumes) even though Daryl doesn’t attend.

The brief passing moments he and Rick have are enough to shake him to his bone and leave him feeling weak and chained up like a bad dog. Paul tries to work out of him what is wrong but Daryl just rolls over and they fall asleep soundlessly. Paul is a smart boy and if it were any other time he’d probably have pieced it together by now but he's far too busy with his life to pay any mind to the things haunting Daryl.

He wants to leave, wants to hightail it out of there faster than a greyhound. In the morning he gets up at the same time as Paul, pulling on some clothes but still leaning over himself on the side of the bed, elbows on his knees and his head in his hands. He wishes he could will himself back to sleep but the bruises on his face keep him awake.

“He’s home today. Pulled a muscle in his knee, try not to get into another fight, okay?” _Pulled a muscle, his ass_. Paul looks at him like a lost cause but kisses his cheek and heads out to school with his mother. It’s Friday, hopefully if he hides well enough today, they will all make it to the weekend in one piece.

Rick isn’t awake yet and based on the soft snores coming from the room across the hall they won’t have to face each other any time soon. Daryl takes advantage of it and makes himself breakfast after missing dinner the night before. The tractor is at a stand still until he gets the parts on Monday so he pulls Ricks Crossbow off the wall in his study, racks a few arrows in the quiver tied around his abdomen. It’s still cloudy out but the muddy ground should make for great tracking.

He spends half the morning walking the woods a mile north of the farm. He’s tracking the movement of a small heard of deer and by the looks of the mud there is at least five of them, presumably a big buck if he finds himself lucky. It’s open season, so Daryl will take what he can get his hands on. There’s a crack and the breaking of branches, far too loudly to be any kind of light-footed deer. Though, Luck has never been in Daryl favor, now that he thinks about it.

He ducks behind a tree and peers around it to find— _god_ , of course. He straightens and huffs, letting the bow fall to his side. “Your stealing my bows now?” Rick is crossing his arms over his too cozy looking hoodie. Daryl wants to melt into his shoes and soak into the mucky earth bellow. The gloomy shadows below the tree line only adds to the chills running through Daryl. Rick looks like he’s dressed to go on a jog but Daryl is sure he followed his footprints out into the woods on purpose.

Rick looks like he’s been running based on the sweat dripping from his hair and the flush of his skin. Daryl feels like they are far too remote in the deep brush to be this alone. He can’t run away here, he can’t slink off and hide. Rick looks like he’s out of breath but the words leave him easily.

“It’s happening, isn’t it?” He swallows. “You guys are disconnecting.” It makes the bottom of Daryl’s stomach reach his throat and the contents nearly spill out. It’s a kick to the gut that lurches him around. “ _Stop_ —“ Rick only laughs, kicking some mud that gushes around his cement grey tennis shoes.

“Sucks, doesn’t it _Daryl_ , eats you up watching him get too busy for you.” There's rain starting to sprinkle down but it catches in the leaves of the cedar trees around them. “Rick, _please_.” A few drops roll across his face as something else threatens to spill from him.

Rick steps forward and grabs the crossbow from his tight grip and Daryl doesn’t let up, he’s not going to keep giving in to Rick, bending when he tells him, jumping when he says jump. He has to hold his ground, be his own person and he’s going to before there’s another fist connecting with his cheek that sends Daryl to the cold ground.

Rick is a sheriff, taking people down is his job and he does so easily with Daryl. He climbs across him to hold him down while he sinks another blow but Daryl grabs ahold of him and pins his arms just out of reach of his already battered skin.

It’s a lock, Ricks ragged, strained grunts leave flames crawling across planes of Daryl’s exposed skin while he tries to yank himself free. The tension could be dipped into and smeared around between them. Something sets panic in Daryl and for a moment he can’t pinpoint where it’s coming from until he can feel himself straining against his zipper, aching and probably dripping already based on the way his body is betraying him. _No, no, god please no._

It’s there, and Rick sense it too because just as soon as Daryl and the older man meet eyes he’s yanking Daryl around till his face down, cheek pressed into the sticky mud with Rick tugging the hem of his pants just pass his ass and Daryl, Daryl obeys and moves until he’s face down, Ricks greedy hands stripping at what remains of his self-control.

Daryl pushes back into it, slides his fingers through the mud and clenches the goopy mess, desperate for something to grab ahold of, to make this real, to steady him.

Rick takes him with spit alone, the burn makes Daryl feel like he’s alive and it’s the way the Sheriff bites into his shoulder as he fucks him that sends him well over the edge. The once quiet woods are filled with desperate groans and please. Daryl’s hands reach back, one digging into Ricks thick hair and the other pressing to his hip like it might slow the way he fucks him relentlessly, even though it’s the furthest thing from what he wants. Rick finds his rhythm, digging his fingertips into Daryl’s waist like if he lets go, Daryl might bolt.

But he doesn’t, he lets the older man pin him, take what he needs and he nearly screams when he hits that perfect spot and then twitches against it, spilling into him with a muffled gasp of his name.

He listens as Rick fixes his clothes, probably trying to brush the mud off of him before he’s gone just as quickly as he was there.

Now, the steady burn and cum running down his inner thigh only brings him guilt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What do YOU guys think is going on? Surly there has to be something we don’t know about! What do you guys think? I love predictions!


	3. Where We Begin

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the longest chapter yet and it’s 95% porn, 5% angst

Two months ago, Daryl would have told you that this was where his and Paul’s story began. They had this whole life waiting for them, that this was just the messy bits in the beginning where they figured out how to make it all work.

There was something Daryl always enjoyed about the beginning of any story, it was somewhere he could go back to once he got to the end, just to relive the feeling all over again. This also made Daryl really despise the end, because they weren’t always happy, but at least he could go back to before everything went wrong.

The beginning of his and Paul’s story was bittersweet, warming and nostalgic. But now, he had an end he had to attend to because as much as Daryl wanted to avoid a denouement, it was now staring him down like a fire no amount of water could douse.

The woods seem more frostbitten and impending than they had on the way in. Daryl’s lips are purple and chapped as he trudged through the cold rain. He lets it pour down on him carelessly because it strips away the _Rick_ from his stinging skin. There’s a soft yellow light inside of the house in a distance. Daryl stands in the middle of what was once a cornfield and stares onwards. There are a few cracks of lightning in the distance and the looming clouds are darker than most days, slowly dragging across the property.

He manages to make his way up the back steps where he strips himself of his vest and undershirt. He’s kicking off his boots, his skin burning at the freezing fabrics sticking to him. The back door opens and the heat from inside the house makes him want to hide outside in the bitter cold forever.

His hair is sticking to his forehead when he looks up, wet and dangling in front of his eyes, water droplets hanging off his lashes. Rick is eyeing him with an unreadable expression on his face. The older man always wore his emotions on his face but right now he’s blank, carving through every layer of armor Daryl hides behind, even with Paul.

Especially with Paul.

“You ready yet?” Rick says in almost a whisper, his fingers slipping from the gold plated door knob.

Daryl’s cold lip quivers as he holds onto what is left of his pride. With a heavy sigh that drops his chest, Daryl lets it all come rushing off, the weight of what he’s doing, the guilt and shame and the pain in his chest if Paul found out about this.

“No,” he shakes his head but steps forward. Rick doesn’t try to push but he grabs ahold of Daryl’s freezing fingertips and pulls him inside. He closes the door behind Daryl but where Daryl things he will be able to make his way upstairs for a hot shower, Rick cages him against the glass with a hand on either side of the fogged door.

Daryl’s heart is hammering in his chest, pressing to his ribs and trying to rip it’s way out. “Rick,” it’s something between a sigh and a whine as the two men of equal weight and statue, drag between pure static and enormous pressure that seems to be pulling them together.

Rick leans and Daryl meets him until their chest fit together. Rick has stripped of his hoody, leaving him in only a white tee and his track pants hanging lowly on his hips. “We can’t—“ it’s the first time Daryl has ever heard Rick lose his footing, his voice cracking. “You don’t get to make those kinds of decisions anymore.” His hands clap around the sharp corners of Daryl’s jaw as he drags him in.

It’s the hardest kiss Daryl has ever had, and the easiest he thinks. His head knocks against the glass door behind him sharply and it makes him whine carefully against the warm lips against his own. Rick doesn’t have to ask for permission, Daryl parts his lips and lets him in hopefully.

The kiss takes everything out of Daryl and pools what is left of heat in his body in his gut. Rick is plaster against him from knees to nose, yet Daryl loops his fingers into his pants and yanks him that much closer. The crack of thunder through the house doesn’t pull them apart for more than a moment to breath and then Rick is pushing off from the door and walking Daryl backward while his hands search for the buttons of Daryl’s pants.

“Off,” he demands and pulls back to yank his shirt up and over his head. He leaves it in a heap on the clean floor and watches the way Daryl hurries out of the soppy wet jeans, dragging his socks off until he’s just standing in a pair of drenched boxers that don’t leave a lot to the imagination.

On all levels besides physical, Daryl is not here in this room. He’s floating around in the empty spaces, telling himself he has no control over the traitorous endeavor he’s about to take part in. The way Rick closes in and tosses him onto the grey soft brings him crashing back down to earth with a thud. Rick abandons his pants and climbs the rest of the way over him, slotting between his legs like its the easiest thing they’ve ever done.

The way Rick kisses him is incomparable to any other kiss he’s ever had. He’s usually the one doing the kissing, but Rick holds his chin with a strong hand, slips his tongue in his mouth and sucks on his bottom lip like he’s holding him at gunpoint and taking it.

It’s not until Rick starts sinking bites across his jaw and down his neck that Daryl realizes the patter of rain no longer drowns out the sounds he makes. He lifts his hand and bites the skin on the side where his thumb meets his wrist. Rick is sinking his teeth into his nipple, then soothing the sting with a lap of his tongue.

“Let me hear you,” Rick's eyes are a cobalt blue that look like they share the same electricity shooting through the sky above them. Daryl rolls his head back to avoid the treacherous gaze. “Please,” he whimpers, carding his cold fingers through Ricks wet hair as the man nips his way back down his stomach. He’s the most sensitive there, but Rick knows that because he sucks a mark into the soft skin below his belly button. “F-Fuck, Rick, please—“ Rick curses the obscene look Daryl wears. “Please what, baby? Tell me what you need,” that voice, that demanding, tempting voice.

“Please just touch me, can’t—can’t do it anymore.” He begs of him, wiggling his hips with his cock brushing against Ricks' chin. He takes the hint, dragging him out of his soaked boxers before wrapping his lips around his dick and slurping.

Rick Grimes was made for this. He was absolutely built to have the most innocent yet _eloquent_ and expansive eyes. Daryl can’t help but watch him sink down till he’s at the back of his throat, Ricks beard tickling the sensitive skin of his balls but it’s so god damn delicious looking. Rick Grimes was made to wrap his lips around a dick and suck what little life he had led in him out. He yanks at his hair to try and slow Rick from his overstimulating movements but he doesn’t let Daryl have control.

He holds him right there at the edge, withering and squirming, shaking as he cries aloud. “Rick, please—please, I can’t anymore, C-Can’t.” He tries to push the man off altogether and actually manages but Ricks hot fingers are sweeping under his balls and across his already fucked open entrance. He’s still slick with cum Rick had already left in him once today.

“Your still so tight, you know that?” He pants. _Please don’t do this_ , Daryl thinks as his eyes roll back when two digits press into him and _curl_. “Still open right up for me though,” and he does, embarrassingly quick. He spreads his legs and reaches down with grabby-hands, digging his nails into Ricks' shoulders. Rick moves him across the sectional until he’s nearly hanging off before pushing his knees up to his chest.

“What do you want baby? Gotta tell me what you _need_.”

“W-Want you to fuck me, please, _Rick_.” He gasps when the man sinks in mid-sentence, till he can feel his balls brush against the top off his ass. At this angle, Daryl can feel all of him, stretching him wide. Daryl nearly forgot, because, Christ, Rick is _huge_ and no one can quite fill him up like Rick does.

“Look at you, darling. So fucking pretty. Don’t think I’ll last long,”

With that, Rick brings on a whole different way of taking him, different from the quick, rough way he’d fucked him in the woods. It leaves Daryl clawing at his back and _begging_ for him to give it to him harder. His cries nearly drown out their skin slapping together every time he slams back into him.

“Who’s is it, darling? Still mine? Still my good boy, huh?”

Daryl is coming at the words, his chest tightening as he spills across his stomach with a, “Yes! Rick, god— it's _yours_.”

Rick follows quickly, his hips stilling then stuttering as he fills him for the second time. He pulls out and watches the way his cum drizzles down Daryl's cheeks before grabbing his shirt to wipe him up.

When the glow of his orgasm starts to subside and he becomes lucid again, Daryl wishes he had somewhere to run to again because he _can’t_ be doing this. He loves Paul, wants to give Paul the god damn _world_. Instead, Rick is fucking him into the couch and rooting through the moments in his past he’d buried deep in his darkest dreams.

“It wasn’t me. Wasn’t me who gave up.” To his own surprise, it’s Daryl who speaks first, his voice feeling far off and too shaky to be his own. Ricks chuckle raddles through him as he pulls on his clean dry boxers. “Bet if you ask Paul in fifteen years he’ll say the same thing.”

The words alone leave Daryl to pull himself off the couch, ignoring the sudden goopy rush running down him again as he makes his way up to the bathroom where he hides in the shower for half of the afternoon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you HAVENT read Trouble Has A Rose Tattoo, are you still understanding what’s going on here? I want to make sure I’m keeping everyone on the same page even though there’s a WHOLE backstory you guys are missing.


	4. Lose It All

The noise of the weekend revolves around the simple fact that Maggie Grimes needed an intervention. Rick acted like everything was fine, even so much as continued to degrade Daryl to keep up the charade they had going. At dinner that night, the one Paul drags him to, they discuss the fact that Maggie still isn’t home for the forth time that week and Paul comments on how he saw her car down by the shop.

Maggie has been a heavy subject for the family in the recent weeks, seeing as she failed to inform her parents that the college she had applied to didn’t accept her. She’s been out late (with Merle) stumbling in at odd hours and it seems to only be Daryl who noticed the way she rushes past everyone.

What was once travesty is now Maggie’s way of life. She was the one who dragged Paul through the mud when the family found out he was sleeping with the younger, yet still thirty year-old Dixon. While Maggie is legally an adult, Paul was not, but Daryl wouldn’t put Paul in harms way like his older brother would.

If it weren’t for the activities he indulged in hours before, he would feel guilty for the circumstances he ended their daughter up in. If Rick knew this was the head of their time with the Dixon’s, he probably would have abandon the idea of letting Daryl into their lives.

When Paul finishes and says he’s going to head upstairs to shower, Daryl starts to shovel down his food so he too can escape. At least, until Lori stops him with a gentle hand, the same place Rick has gripped him earlier.

“Wait,” she sighs, dropping he hand and looking over at her husband. “I think it’s...I think Maggie started acting out after Shane.” Daryl’s eyes snap up to meet Ricks and—

He remembers the way Ricks fist collided with the mans face the night Daryl found him assaulting Paul in the barn. He thinks of the blood that splashed his face and the brush of their bodies when he clasped his fingers across Ricks broad shoulder and pulled him away from the battered man.

Ricks gun stuffed into his pants was cool and heavy but it felt weightless in his hands while he himself put the bullet through Shane Walsh’s skull.

And Maggie had been there to hear it all, beat for beat and the single gunshot that ended the officers life. Daryl shoves himself back from the table and stands. “Maggie has been sleeping with Merle. He’s been on a bender and I can’t guarantee that he hasn’t dragged her into it.” He turns and leaves from the room to head for the back yard where he slinks off to the barn. He can’t face these demons with prying eyes on him so he chooses to take them on alone.

In the barn, he smashes his fists into the wood side of the barn, marring his knuckles and making them bleed to the point of only seeing red when he sinks down to the hay, his head in his hands. The sobs that leave him are the closest thing to breaking Daryl has ever experienced. This wasn’t the life he wanted, he’d had such big plans about getting away and starting a life but all he has is a boyfriend who only craves the feeling of maturity and Rick—Rick who still confuses the hell out of him.

“Hey,” the softness of his voice startles Daryl more so than his sudden presence. He drags his knees up to his chest and tries to hide behind them, eyes darting around. “What’cha want?” He grumbles and tries to disregard the tender look in the older eyes.

“Lori is freakin’ out in there, told me I should come find ya’.” He leans down on his knees till he’s eye level with Daryl. It’s chilly outside, it’s been raining all week and with it has come stinging wind that creeps through the planks in the barn. It whistles through the dying grass loudly.

“Your hands,” Rick reaches out for them and before he can yank them back, he wraps them around the bloody knuckles. “Daryl,” it makes his heart miss a beat and he pulls his hands away. “Don’t—you don’t get to say my name like _that_.” He curses him and scoots away a little.

Rick is a hard headed man on most days, today is not a exception. “You aren’t doing this alone.” He drops down to his knees from where he leans on his heels before dragging Daryl into him. “Close your eyes, take a deep breath.”

Daryl doesn’t question him, they move around until Daryl can drape himself across his lap and tuck himself into his chest easily. He’s spent years being everyones crutch, holding everyone together, but for once he wants to be the one who is held. “You don’t have to face it alone.” He can feel his soft breath against his face and then, a kiss to his temple. It’s slow and drains the pain from him like it’s a magnet.

“M’gonna lose it, all of it.” With that, Rick shakes his head and slides a hand up his back. “You aren’t going to lose anyone, Paul, he’ll come around—“ Daryl catches his shirt in his fingers and tightens a grip on the fabric. “Not Paul—You. M’going to loose a family, again and...and you.”

Daryl feels like he’s broken open down the center till all that he is, is pouring out of the cracks. Rick squeezes him in an instant before reaching down and tugging his chin to look up. “I’m not going anywhere.”

The kiss burns, more than the drag of Rick inside him in the woods, more than the way Paul pushes him away. It's full of something, some kind of emotion Daryl does know how to pick up on. Rick hums against his mouth and holds him there for far too long if all he wants is a quickie.

”Need to get you inside, clean up those hands. Gonna take care of you.” The words bounce off the inside of his skull and shoot down his throat, straight to his gut. ”Want me to? Take care of you, baby?” Rick brushes his hair back gently and kisses him again. Daryl can only manage to nod at him as Rick helps him stand to his feet. He brings the bloody fists up to his mouth and kisses then carefully. He leads Daryl back inside, his mind still reeling over the simple fact that Rick held him and kisses his forehead, made him feel like he could let it all go.

He does as he tells him, leads Daryl into the master bathroom where he breaks out a first aid cabinet and starts to patch up the wounds. He can hear Lori in the main room on the phone to Maggie so with a quick glance at the door, he drags Rick by the hair at the back of his neck till he’s backing him towards the sink. The shower is still running so he knows Paul is still preoccupied.

Rick growls lowly and sinks his thumbs into his hip bones as he hoists him onto the counter behind him. Daryl traps him between his thighs and drapes his arms around his shoulders while he kisses him messily. It leaves his lips puffy and swollen. He pulls back when Lois goes quiet in the kitchen, but Daryl wants to arch into the absence. Instead, Rick wipes down his knuckles and bandages them up. With a few more soft kisses he leaves the room with his arms crossed.

Daryl lays down before Paul gets out of the shower and tries to avoid the nagging demon perched on his shoulder.

He has nightmares about endless storms, heavy rains and ripping wind that destroy the house and when he wakes up in the morning with Paul draped across his chest he realizes he’s that storm, and he is the one ripping the house from it’s foundation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PLEASE comment I need the encouragement


	5. French Toast

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please keep in mind this chapter is supposed to be a ”flashback” to daryl and ricks first time BUT lets be real, I just wanted another excuse to write porn.

 

 

> _**Greenville GA, 2003** _

It’s a Sunday.

It’s not normal for Rick to work this late on a Sunday but the house fire on Sycamore keeps him up late. It’s December so the chill hanging in the air bites him down to the bone so he has the heat on all the way, blasting him over the mumble of dispatch on the radio.

He’s a half a mile from the little house he and Lori had bought together but it’s been void of her for over a month. They’ve been off and on for a little over a year while she lives at the Farm with her dad and Maggie and Paul. Rick usually gets to see them on the weekends but this week has been filled with sporadic crimes that have him out at all hours.

Out of the corner of his eye he sees the bus stop as he passes, on it is someone wrapped up into themselves. It’s not pouring, but the drizzle coming down is damn near freezing so he does a ‘U’ turn in the middle of the street and flips around. One more trip back to the station won’t hurt him.

He tugs his jacket around him as he gets out of the squad car. It’s colder than he remembers but he tracks through the puddles over to the person hunched over on the bench. They are hiding in their thin jacket and shaking. “Hey—you okay there?” He lands a hand on this shoulder and he can feel them physically shaking. A scared face peeks up from under their arms and it’s—

“Daryl? Fuck, kid what are you doing out here?” He reaches down without a thought and wraps a arm under his knees and lifts him. “Your fucking freezing,” He opens the door and sets him inside before yanking his own jacket off frantically to wrap it around the boy. His lips are a pale purple and based on the way he’s clinging to himself desperately he’s not too far from hypothermia.

Rick closes the door and circles the car before climbing into the driver's seat.

Daryl Dixon was a hard story in Ricks big book of fucked up things Greenville has hidden in its basement. Daryl was twelve, maybe thirteen when Rick first saw him hooked up to a life support machine, fighting to survive after his father had pushed him out of the second story window of their run-down mechanics shop. Last fall he’d got news that Will had died in a riot but Daryl was still bouncing around foster care for all he knew.

“Hey, Daryl, what are you doing out here?” He points all the vents in his direction and keeps a steady eye on him.

“Bill and Mandy, they—“ he shakes and looks over at Daryl under his long hair. “Said-Said I was going to a boys camp, bu-bus was supposed to come.” He whimpers between his chattering teeth.

It makes Ricks heart drop to his stomach and he grips the steering wheel tightly, his knuckles going white. “Fucking _useless_ excuses for parents.” He heads in the direction of his house because he knows the moment he brings Daryl to the station they will call Bill and Mandy to come pick him up.

Instead, he tries to help him into the warm house only to find its freezing and dark. “P-Power is out.” Daryl tells him slowly, standing in the middle of the room and dripping wet. “Fuck, okay-just, stay there okay?” He fishes around the house for candles he knows he has under the sink. He lights them and places them in high areas so they can see their way around. He then pulls all the towels out of his hall closet and starts to dry him off.

He pulls him out of his soppy wet clothes and helps him dry off. “I’ll get you a blanket and start a fire, are you feeling any better?” He asks, once Daryl is stripped down to only his underwear and wrapped up in Ricks big jacket and a few damp towels. He nods quickly and Rick notices how thin he is, then. Like they haven’t been feeding him.

He lights a fire in the potbelly stove in the corner of the living room before grabbing the blankets and pillows from his room. Daryl still looks so out of place and _sad_. It’s a look Rick never wants to see on his face.

Him and Daryl have been running into each other for years, usually because he’s acting out or his foster parents give him up. Tonight is the final straw that breaks his heart completely. He lays out the blankets and pillows before pulling the towels from Daryl glassy skin. “C’mere, darlin’, well get you warmed up.” He pulls him over to the fire carefully. He can’t turn Daryl into the hospital or the police station because he can’t see him go back to his temporary home.

So, he sits down and pulls him into his chest as he wraps him up in a big fluffy comforter. It takes a half an hour for Daryl to stop shivering and his skin to warm up, thanks to Rick rubbing his hands up and down him to create friction.

Daryl presses his face to his neck and it feels like one of the easiest things, like second nature. Daryl is sixteen, Rick thinks he’ll be seventeen soon so all he has left is a year in the foster system. At least he’ll be able to get away from these people. “M’Sorry,” He says against Rick but he presses that much closer. The position tugs at a part of Rick that shouldn’t be crossing his mind right now.

“Hey, stop it, you don’t have anything to be sorry about.” He places a hand on his face so he can pull back and look at him. He feels like he should be face to face to get the words through his stubborn little head. There’s a hand on his chest, digging into the fabric and his bowed legs are open wide with Daryl tucked between them to warm him. The sudden heat is enough to light the air between them aflame.

“They should be taking care of you.” He slides his thumb across his jaw and Daryl’s tongue darts out across his still nearly purple lips, his eyes darting down then back up until they are peering into the darkness behind his eyes. The reflection of fire in Daryls shiny blue oceans take his breath away.

“ _Your taking care of me_.” His voice sounds like a whisper and Rick _can’t_ help what he does next. He’s not sure if it’s Daryl who leans in first or if he meets him halfway but he’s a twenty-five-year-old married cop who’s got his mouth pressed to sixteen year old Daryl Dixon and it’s the best thing he’s ever experienced.

They don’t have words to say as the kiss turns frantic. Daryl climbs into his lap nearly leaving the blanket behind him but he’s easily covered by Ricks broad hands across his back. He arches, gasps and his skin would be bubbling in blisters if he was truly the phosphorus upon which Daryl struck his match across. 

The way Daryl’s eyes burn down at him and the soft, cold touch of his finger tips  spark goosebumps across the older mans skin leaving him clawing at Daryl to pull him closer. He pops all the buttons on his uniform in a effort to pull all his clothes from his body until it’s just their skin on skin. He rolls him over onto his back, shoulders flexing in the warm light provided by the fire. Daryl caves under him, spreading his legs wide and tugging him in by his traps.

“Don’t stop,” he whines quietly and Rick _didn’t_ plan on it. He slips his tongue into his mouth and _rolls_ his hips downwards.

When Daryl finally sinks down on his cock he’s back on his lap, wrapped up in his arms and gasping his name. “Easy, baby, don’t push yourself.” He spreads his hands across his back and doesn’t press upwards, doesn’t try to push him down. Daryl whimpers as he takes him and Rick kisses his neck and chest to sooth him. “You look so pretty, baby. I’ll take such good care of you.”

And he does, he lets Daryl ride him slowly till they take each other apart bit by bit beside the hot ambers. ”I-It’s so big, feels so good.” Daryl rocks himself, rolling against him shakily and Rick guides him with steady hands, cooing in his ear. It's all soft purs, sharp teeth and Daryls pleading cries.

He gets Daryl off by fucking up into him, just against his sweet spot until he comes in spurts. Rick fills him easily, biting into his neck to hold him still as his hips stutter uncontrollably.

He cleans Daryl up with a warm cloth and careful kisses before letting him curl up against his chest. It's the soft patter of his breath that lull Rick to sleep.

* * *

 

In the morning when the house is cooling and all they have is each other to warm up with, Rick kisses every inch of his skin and whispers sweet nothings about giving him the world.

He takes him out for breakfast and Daryl insist on French toast instead of waffles.

Because anyone can pop a waffle in the toaster and call it breakfast but sweet, gooey French Toast means someone gave a damn about what went into filling his tummy and it was then that Rick decided Daryl was one thing he would always take his time on.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How are you guys liking this so far? I REALLY need some input because I’m paranoid that I'm failing here. 
> 
> IT TAKES TEN MINS TO READ THIS BUT ONLY TWO TO COMMENT SOMETHING TO KEEP ME INSPIRED.


	6. Cold Thunder

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IT TAKES TWO MINUTES TO COMMENT, PLEASE GIVE ME A REASON TO KEEP WRITING.

On Saturday, Daryl does his best to avoid Rick and spend his time with Paul. He tries to ask him out to lunch, but Paul is in the middle of a project at the kitchen table with a classmate and Daryl has _no_ idea who they are. He works on the tractor and feels blessed the clouds have cleared up for the day. Around four, he heads inside wiping his hands of grease to find the house is nearly empty aside from Lori who is making dinner.

“Where is everyone?” He asks her softly and she pours him a glass of sweet tea with a sad smile. “Paul and Aaron went out. He said he had to take him home but they were stopping for food. Rick is at a doctors appointment. He twisted up his knee pretty bad, I told him to stay off it but he never listens.”

Daryl feels guilty about dragging Rick through the woods or the weight he’d put on it when he pressed him into the couch. For a moment, he shudders and takes a long drink. Lori is a good woman, but he’s never seen her affectionate with Rick in the time he’s lived there. He carries himself outside and sits down on the steps because he thinks it’s a better place than any to wait for Paul.

When two hours have passed, the only thing coming down the driveway is Ricks old squad car and for a second, it makes his chest tighten, like perhaps it’s a better sight than Paul’s old cougar anyways.

It’s the first time he notices Ricks knee, too. He’s got a limp, but he holds himself tall. “Scheduled me for surgery.” He tells him quietly before dropping to the steps beside him. He can hear Lori watching Tv while dinner sits in the oven. Rick has these knowing eyes that read him all too well so he spills before Rick has the chance to start guessing.

“Tried to take Paul to lunch, he uh, had a school project? He took his friend out to lunch and Lori hasn’t seen him for hours.” When he finishes his words, Rick is reaching over and weaving his fingers through Daryl’s oily ones. “He’s a busy kid. I’m not going to lie and say I’ll try and fix it because you know how selfish I am.” He grins at him cockily and bumps his shoulder with a squeeze.

Rick glances to the door behind him at the same time he kisses Daryl’s shoulder. “Let’s go inside and get something to eat?” He mumbles gently against his clothed shoulder.

At dinner, when Paul still isn’t home, he calls Lori and tells her that he’s spending the night at a friends house and it makes Daryl ache that much worse. He abandons his food and heads upstairs to pack his things again. Rick can’t pin him to the floor and threaten him this time. Paul is pushing him away, it doesn’t take a rocket scientist to see that and Daryl was not a stupid man. He starts his motorcycle and lets it warm up when Rick emerges from the house.

“You could stay, you know.” He tells him, leaning against the post on the porch with his as crossed across his chest. Daryl only huffs at him. “Why? So I can be everyone’s secret?” Daryl _knows_ it’s not like that but his chest feels so tight and he’s got panic setting in. He feels embarrassed that he’d stayed for so long.

He can see the hurt in Ricks' eyes as he leaves with a trail of dust behind him.

 

* * *

 

He doesn’t come back to the Grimes house until the following weekend. He works non-stop with Merle and his older brother doesn’t have to ask for him to help cook, they have a quota to fill for Negan. It fills his time with something other than loneliness. He’s never been an emotional man _(okay, that’s a lie)_ but he cries himself to sleep the first two nights, next to the sounds of Merle’s bed creaking. Maggie passes him by the coffee maker in a couple occasions.

The only reason he ends up back at the farm is because the parts for the tractor finally come in and Rick calls and tells him he can’t leave something unfinished. He’s not sure if he’s talking about the torn apart John-deer or the shambles his life is in. Either way, he pulls up to the farm late on Friday and heads right for the old barn.

His conversation with Paul goes as expected. Paul goes off about “being his own person” and the fact that Daryl isn’t his father so he doesn’t get to tell him what he’s allowed to do. It burns in Daryl’s ears so he ignores Paul until he goes back inside.

On Sunday, it starts to rain. He finds that the dark clouds and cold crack of thunder make his mind fog with Rick. The chill in his bones makes him want to curl up against him but he pushes the thoughts away until he finally finishes the tractor. It’s getting late and he’s missing dinner, but as soon as he’s about to head inside, Paul is standing on the back porch with a sad look on his face.

“I’m sorry,” he says, holding out a plate of food. Daryl breaks completely, then. He doesn’t try to ask Paul what is happening to them because he doesn’t know how much longer he’ll get to have this for. He’s desperate to feel like he’s wanted, like he’s more than something hidden in their closets.

He fills the empty, gaping hole that splashed around with loneliness with Paul’s small frame pressed to him that night. They don’t have sex, but Daryl still comes with a sob when Paul jacks him off.

Falling asleep is all he can do to avoid the overbearing weight of guilt in his chest.

 

* * *

 

He’s not sure what wakes him up in the morning but there’s a soft patter of rain on the tin roof that makes him groan. He needs to get up, get out of Paul’s bed and go home. The house should be empty, but his mind is swimming in thoughts of Rick. For some reason, cold rainy nights always make him think of the way the Sheriff used to need him, used to hold him close in the early mornings, kiss his head and talk to him about sweet nothings.

He’s naked with the white sheets draped across his lower body while he sleeps on his stomach. There’s a creek at the end of the bed that he barely registers but the tickle of a beard against his lower back is enough to stir him from any daze. The tickle turns to soft kisses, trailing up his spine then across his shoulders as Ricks steady weight sinks down on him.

He groans quietly when Rick settles a bite on the back of his neck. He wants to roll over and push him off, tell him they can’t be doing this but he’s as good as gone when Ricks hot breath skated across the shell of his ear. “I can’t stand to watch this anymore.” He tells him. “You don’t deserve this.” He mumbles and Daryl manages to roll over under him.

They take the morning on together, slowly. Rick kisses him like he’s something worth keeping, practically worships every inch of his skin and he _holds_ him while they make love like the first time. Daryl on his lap, chest to chest, nothing but soft pants and wet kisses. Ricks' hands feel just as big sprawled across his lower back and the way he looks at him makes Daryl feel like he’s the stars hanging in the sky.

Rick lays out in the soft white sheets and Daryl draws shapes on his muscular back when they finish. They spend hours just wrapped around each other with the window open to let in some kind of cool air around the ambers burning inside of them. The room smells like sweet rain and a certain nostalgia that comes with the washing of the earth and Ricks warm morning breath.

He shouldn’t be here, in Paul’s bed, wrapped around Rick, laying on his chest and caressing the muscles on his forearm. He shouldn’t be falling like this.

But here he is, staring into the electric blue of Ricks' eyes, adoring the splash of freckles across his nose and the wrinkles by his eyes that have come with his years of worry.

Daryl feels as though he’ll never hit the ground when Rick slides his thumb across his jaw and says,

_“I should have taken care of you.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It’s all downhill from here, kids. 
> 
>  
> 
> PLEASE drop comments I NEED THEM.


	7. Where We Ended

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you have read the first fix ”trouble has a rose tattoo” you'll start to see some correlations in this chapter.

 

> _**Atlanta GA, 2005** _

It’s the middle of summer and Georgia wasn’t going to cut them a break just because of their situation.

Rick is held up in the children’s hospital with Lori at his side and his head buried in his hands. The guilt of the last year is bubbling up inside of him and threatening to spill over. They are waiting for the doctor to come through the door and give them the bad news he already knows is coming. They wouldn’t _be_ here if it wasn’t bad news.

Paul has been so _sick_ lately, he’s loosing so much weight and he isn’t the spunky little boy he was before. First it was Lori taking him to the doctors but when they couldn’t find what the problem was, Rick started coming to the appointments. When he gets off work, he goes straight over to the farm to spend time with Paul who is on bed rest. It took three weeks for his primary care doctor to refer them to the children’s hospital.

The doctor comes through the door carefully. They are light on their feet with a pale face and sad smile. “I’m sorry to have to tell you this, but your son has Leukemia.”

The world crashes in, then. The tears running down Ricks face don’t amount to the pain he feels in his chest. They tell them that his survival rate is average, they caught it a bit late but if they work hard, then Paul has a fighting chance. His son is dying, fighting for his life and he hasn’t been there. He hasn’t been there tuck him at night or take him to preschool. He hasn’t been there to read him a bed time story or kiss his boo-boos.

Hes never hated himself more than that moment. The last year, he’d spent sneaking around with Daryl. While, he wasn’t with Lori anymore, it still felt _wrong_. And it _was_ because his son was dying and he hadn’t been there to be his father for the last _year_.

They pack up their house and put it on the market. Paul has to be close to the hospital so he relocates to the Atlanta PD and they rent an apartment to cut back on expenses. They decide that they are going to try again, try to be a family for their son's sake. They want him to have parents who love him if these are the last moments they have left with him.

In between all the chaos, Daryl shows up at the front door of the half-packed house while Lori sorts through the things they will keep and the things they will sell.

“What are you doing here?” He hisses and closes the door behind him, crowding Daryl on the porch. “What-What do you mean?”

Daryl looks he’s been kicked, the betrayal in his eyes does everything to Ricks' heart he’d hoped it wouldn’t.

“Are you...your leaving?” Daryl asks as he looks between the moving van and the boxes packed up on the porch that read ’kitchen’ and ’kids stuff’. Rick looks at them too and for the first time, he realizes what he’s leaving behind here.

“Me and Lori—we’re moving the kids up to Atlanta.” Before Rick can get any further, Daryl gives him this _look_. One he will never forget. It’s Daryl realizing that again, for the who knows how many times, he’s being abandoned. Rick doesn’t _want_ him anymore and that much is clear.

Daryl sweeps the tears from his cheeks hastily and pushes a box Rick didn’t notice he was holding, onto the older man. It pops open and smears white cake and icing all over his shirt with a “happy birthday” plastic piece hanging out of it.

By the time he realizes what it is, Daryl is already on his way out the gate. It was his birthday, the birthday they had planned to spend together because now, Daryl was finally eighteen. They could finally be together.

And Rick was leaving it all behind.

As much as he wanted to run after the younger man, sweep him up and press him against the moving van and tell him he wasn’t going _anywhere_ , he couldn’t. The door behind him was opening to Paul’s pale, fragile frame. “Daddy?” He says in a small voice. So, Rick shakes the tears and lifts his son into his arms and he doesn’t look back until they are driving past the city limit sign on the way up the Atlanta and all he can think about is how he’s trading true happiness for the last chance at keeping his family together.

* * *

 

They spend five years in Atlanta. When Paul is finally well enough to leave, Rick almost forgets what he’s going back to. They haven’t been to Greenville for half a decade but Hershel and Annette want to move upstate. So, they exchange deeds to the land and the house they’ve bought in the city. The farm goes into Ricks name and they settle back in like they never left. Rick almost doesn’t even _notice_ him for weeks.

It’s a Thursday when they raid the old mechanics shop, the last notch in a pool of drug busts. He’s standing by his car filling out paperwork on the hood when they drag a loud-mouthed kid from the upstairs apartment. ”Get off of me, ya’ fucking pig!” He’s resisting, tugging at the officers to get away until he meets Ricks' eyes.

His heart stops beating, he’s breathless. Daryl Dixon is dressed in an old vest, black boots and ripped jeans. He’s got tattoos now, lots of them. He has an old black eye and a cut on his cheek. His eyes are bloodshot, angry looking. He’s not the same boy he left behind. Daryl doesn’t have the same reaction as the older man as he spits in Ricks direction and bares his teeth at him. “You son of a bitch!” He cusses at him and wiggles away from the officer holding him. In one swift movement, he slams his head into Ricks, busting his lip and breaking his nose. Rick stumbles back and watches as the blood drops from his face into his hands. The other officer's are trying to get control of Daryl.

“Let him go—I’ll take him,” he tells the other officers and grabs ahold of Daryl. He throws him in the backseat and drags him down to the station without a word. Once inside, he strips Daryl of the vest and the chains hanging from his pockets, but he can’t strip him of the outer layer that is covering up the kid he fell in love with.

It’s the layers of abandonment and disappointment that Rick had left in his absence. It’s the devastation left by all the people who didn’t give Daryl a second chance. It’s the armor his hides behind and the defense that has kept him alive for all these years.

He wants to tell him he’s sorry, that he’ll make up for it, but Daryl looks at him like he’s the reason for every scar on his body and every nightmare he suffers.

So Rick tucks the vest into the back of the evidence room where it stays for another six years. After that day, it seems like Rick is always arresting Daryl for some kind of petty crime and there is no amount of emotion other than _anger_ coursing through the young man's blood.

The day he comes down the driveway with a bloodied Paul in his arms and that same _look_ he wore the day Rick told him he was leaving for Atlanta is the day it all comes flooding back. Rick abandoned him, left him to be the battered man he was today. Rick took any last bit of hope Daryl had inside of him and crushed it until he was nothing but a shell.

Despite his father's angry hands, Merle's temper and ability to shoulder Daryl the blame. Despite all the foster families that left him behind to find his own way and fend for himself.

_Rick Grimes was the man who broke Daryl Dixon._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you have any questions PLEASE don't be afraid to ask them! I love to talk to you guys. I'm sorry if this is trash, my car broke down at chipotle on my lunch and I wrote this while I waited for someone to pick me up and rush me back to work. EVEN THOUGH I was already late. 
> 
> Note that my car costed me $20,000 fucking big ones and I’m an emotional wreck BUT writing is my coping mechanism so here we are.


	8. Over

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, fuck AMC for what they did to Jesus.

Daryl decided he needs to go back home on Wednesday. He and Rick are developing a pattern of climbing into bed with each other in the early hours and laying around until lunchtime. He can’t keep finding himself wrapped around Rick every morning while he lays in Paul’s bed, so on Tuesday they move to Ricks bed and somehow it’s almost worse. He’s not comfortable there because that’s _Lori’s_ bed.

On Wednesday they nap well into the day and Rick barely wakes up in time to make his way to his room before Paul gets home early. Daryl dresses himself and heads downstairs to greet him at the stairs and he has the biggest grin looking up at him. “Hey, I uhm...I wanted to talk to you about something.”

Daryl knows it’s not the breakup conversation based on his smile. “Yeah, let me get some shoes, I’ll meet you downstairs.” He slips into his boots and makes sure the room is clear before heading down. Once down in the kitchen, he finds Rick with a paper in his hand acting like he’s been there the whole time. They don’t even meet eyes so Daryl sits two seats down from him and looks Paul over openly.

Paul is dressed in his school clothes, just some jeans and their school shirts but he doesn’t look like the same Paul from the beginning of the summer. There’s flowers sitting in the counter that catch Daryl’s eyes. “Who are those from?” He finds himself like _he_ of all people should be worried about Paul being unfaithful.

“Uh, that’s what I wanted to talk about.” He sighs. “Aaron asked me to go to homecoming with him and I told him _yes_ because I figured, you know, you couldn’t take me so I wanted to see if it’s okay with you?” He’s twiddling his fingers, nibbling in his bottom lip bashfully.

Rick shifts in his chair and Daryl looks over at the exact time they meet eyes. He snaps his head back to Paul and tries to muster a half smile. “Yeah, Paul. Do whatever you’d like, I’m not your dad, you don’t have to ask me for permission.”

The words leave Paul nearly giddy and he heads upstairs for whatever reason. Daryl decided not to move from his chair, his head landing in his hands. Ricks chair creeks and he walks a couple feet over to him. His kisses his shoulder as he walks past before heading up to his room.

Daryl sulks for a few minutes, then goes outside and starts his bike. Once home, he works on a car in the garage till daylight because his mind feels like it’s reeling. He’s scared to lay down in his bed because he knows how his mind is going to run wild with him.

He should have never dragged the Grimes into his mess of a life. It wasn’t Paul’s job to clean up the prices that Rick had scattered around. And it wasn’t ricks fault that Daryl couldn’t keep it together when he left him. He spent a lot of years in agony, trying to work it what he could have done. He replayed the days leading up to his eighteenth birthday over and over again. He tried to pick out the bits that could have lead up to Ricks decision and no matter how many times he went over it, he couldn’t figure out why he _wasn’t enough._

Daryl is thirty years old, he’s well into adulthood with nothing but a seventeen-year-old boyfriend who wants nothing to do with him and Rick—Christ, that was a mess.

When the morning light starts to bleed into the shop, Daryl drags his tired limbs to the back of the shop. He sleeps in the small office on the rolly chair, twists his back a little and wakes up mid day. He tries to work on the car but Merle finds him, slumped against the hood and snoring so he shakes him gently.

“You're going to get yer-self hurt, sleepin’ on the job.” Daryl tries to brush him off and pick up his wrench again but Merle takes it. “Know you don’t like talkin’ bout it, but I know somethin’ is going on. Is it Paul?” Daryl shoots his head up at his brother and _glares_. “Rick?” Of course, Merle would be the one to see right through Daryl’s glassy tired eyes. Daryl pushes past him to leave the garage and he finds himself down at the old dinner where he orders himself the biggest stack of French toast he can.

By the time he crawls into a proper bed that night, he’s too exhausted to think about the way his life is falling apart.

* * *

 

Today is Friday, It’s the day of Homecoming. Daryl feels like maybe he should just stay at the shop but Paul comes by before school and begs him to come by before they leave. It feels like

He works all day and watches the clouds start to pour in. That’s the last thing he needs, rain on a day he should be focusing his energy on Paul. He cleans himself up a little around five and heads to the farm on his bike. Pulling down the driveway makes him feel nauseous. He shouldn’t _be_ here. Paul is going to a school dance with what seems like a nice boy. He doesn’t need someone who is nearly old enough to be his dad standing around.

Rick is in the porch when he gets off the bike, his arms crossed and a smile on his lips. “Lori is taking them, she’s chaperoning until eight.” Daryl doesn’t know _why_ Rick feels the need to tell him this. So he just huffs at him and walks into the house.

Paul is in the living room, fixing Aaron’s bowtie and the taller has a hand on Paul’s hip. Daryl can’t find it in him to worry. He wants Paul to be happy and he _Looks_ like he is. His eyes are gleaming in a way he used to look at Daryl. Aaron looks like a nice enough kid, like he might be the type to watch out for Paul and keep him out of trouble, while Daryl is quite the opposite.

He clears his throat a little to drag Paul attention away. “Hey kid,” he gives him a sad smile and leans down to kiss his forehead once he gets close enough. “You look really nice,” Paul takes the compliment and glances over his shoulder at Aaron who looks suddenly uncomfortable. “I have to be there by five thirty to help set up.” He sighs and leans against Daryl a little.

Daryl steps back when Rick comes through the door, dressed in a pair of tight jeans, boots and a tight Henley. “Well, I guess you’d better get to it then?”

When they go out on the porch to get pictures of the boys, it starts to rain. Lori is dressed in a purple dress and her hair is curled but she has a large bag over her shoulder. Rick gives him this look like ‘ _I’ll tell you later’_ so Daryl doesn’t ask.

Paul doesn’t kiss him goodbye while they load up into his Cougar, Lori takes her car and Daryl nearly follows him out the driveway.

It feels like he’s giving him up, like he’s just given Paul his blessing. The rain is pouring down now and he can’t find it in himself to get out of it. It loud and stings his skin but it makes him feel like he could drown. Like he could lay down, roll over, and give up to the overbearing pain that has always been and always will be his life.

“Daryl! Come inside!” It’s Rick, yelling over the sound of the rain pouring down on him. He doesn’t turn around until Rick meets him in the front yard with a stiff hand on his shoulder that he yanks away from.

He turns and takes a few steps back. He’s not sure if it’s the cold that’s making him shake like this, but he feels like his world is washing away in the downpour.

“Why did you stop?” He asks him, his voice cracks when he looks at ricks hair sticking to his head and dripping with water. “What?” There's droplets rolling off his lashes.

“Why did you stop _loving_ me?” It comes out like a blubber and he’s grateful for the water on his face. Rick looks like he loses his balance, his knees going weak. “Paul got sick.” He reaches up and wipes at his nose. “You were always busy with your friends and Merle, I had to be there for my son, I thought if you didn’t want to do it anymore—.”

Daryl reaches out then and pushes him, hard, watching him stumble backward. After years of wondering what he’d done wrong, wishing he could somehow ask Rick, it was all pouring out. He slugs Rick in the chest and watches as t takes his breath away, but he doesn’t out all his strength into it. No matter what Rick did, no matter how many times he broke Daryl, he could never hurt Rick.

“It wasn’t over for me!” He sniffles and Rick is just _standing_ there, his chest heaving. Ricks blue eyes are stormy, they see straight through him, like he’s made of glass. Daryl is starting to calm down when he gets the words out, his skin starts to feel too cold and he wants to go inside and hash it out in there.

But Rick takes a step forward and looks over him. “It wasn’t over, it still ain’t over.” He drags Daryl against him and kisses him. Of course, Daryl melts against it, of course, Rick is the only heat he can find in the cold air around them. “It’s not over.” Rick presses his tongue into his mouth and takes him apart in the driveway.

He and Rick are _far_ from over.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry I haven’t updated, I’ve been SO busy with the holiday. Thoughts on this chapter? What would YOU like to see happen next?!


	9. All Over Again

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you guys would like to set the moods for yourselves, I HIGHLY suggest listening to th song “Hannah” by Ray Lamontagne while you read. This whole series was written while I listened to the “Trouble” album. It’s absolutly beautiful.

The thing about falling is knowing you'll hit the ground, eventually. It will hurt, kill, even. Daryl has known all his life the moment he starts, he's going to collide face first with the deep red Georgia clay. It's going to snap his neck, shatter through his spine and he's going to flatten against the dirt because when Daryl Dixon falls, it's with all his weight, from ten stories high and he'll probably do a swan dive.

But here, pressed to the glass of the front door while the rain pours down outside, he feels like he could never fall, Rick would always be there to catch him. There’s a chill in the house, it’s far too dark out to be this early and Daryl and Rick are dripping in icy water. Ricks blue button down is now a drenched shade of navy and he’s gripping at the vest on Daryl’s chest as he hauls him in and then, slams him back against the glass.

“Room— _Please_ ,” there’s something hiding in Ricks deep blue irises as he stares at him. Though they match each other in height nearly to the hair, Daryl feels smaller, feels like he could break under Ricks weight, so the older man takes a step back. “No,” it comes out of him in a heavy pant.

_No?_

Rick is straining against the dark pants, the only thing holding him together is a warm leather belt and the metal teeth of his zipper. Daryl wants to drop to his knees and take Rick apart, to please him, to feel like he’s doing good. He needs the approval, the _praise_. “Please,” he whines again, quieter but it drags at Ricks heartstrings like a plow in the early spring.

_“No.“_

Ricks' eyes are dragging across him now, his tongue darting out to warm his cold lips as he reaches his hands up to the collar of his shirt. It’s then that Daryl notices the white stretch of skin where Rick once had his wedding ring. “You aren’t a boy anymore.”

Daryl can hear hammering in his ears, making the world sound _so_ loud. It nearly drowns out the way soft pants leave Ricks parted lips as he undresses himself. When the last button is finally undone, he lets the denim fall from his shoulders and it wasn’t until then that Daryl took a God’s honest look at his lover. Rick has a salt and pepper of soft hair across his chest, some grey, spotted with dark patches and his skin is painted red from the cold cotton that was stuck to it.

“You're a man, Daryl—take what you want. I’m not going to lead you around anymore like you don’t have your own agenda.”

He’d never thought about Rick from this perspective, he’d always been stern, nearly controlling, knowing what he wanted, telling Daryl the way it would be. It’s not that Daryl minded, he is very content to follow instructions. Rick was by all accounts a dominating man and here he was, baring the skin of his throat, his soft belly, telling Daryl to _take_. Rick had never bent to Daryl's hands, or ducked his head and blushed when Daryl told him to do something because up until this moment, he never thought he had the power to. Somehow, it still felt like he didn’t, because it took Ricks permission for him to finally find his feet and push off the glass door.

He doesn’t feel small, anymore.

He has a heat burning in his gut that tells him he needs to stand his ground with Rick. If they are doing this, they're doing this when Daryl wants it, how Daryl wants it. He doesn’t want it to be like it was last time, with Rick leading him around like a puppy who didn’t know any better because he was a damn _man_ now, all power and strong will and deep, rooted need that drives him straight into Ricks' chest, knocking their teeth together till the later is stumbling backward. Maybe knocking Rick off his feet, catching him off guard and feeling him when he is venerable is what Daryl needs to feel like his life isn’t out of his hands. He gets to decide what happens to him, fate isn’t going to drag him by his ear and plop him down wherever it’s most convenient for everyone else.

Rick gives him the hold he needs, caves to the way Daryl digs his blackened, grease-stained nails into the soft skin of his hips to steady him. The short leap in their age plays no factor in the position Daryl is holding him in. They don’t have to play by the roles they once had, they are diving in together, head first. Daryl reaches up and drags a hand through the cold mop of curly hair on Ricks' head and uses the leverage to drag him down to his knees.

Of course, Rick goes without protest, he takes his place below Daryl and he leans forward to bury his face in his crotch, making the sting of the metal zipper drag across his barely covered cock. “ _Easy_ ,” he warns as he lets his hand drop from his hair to undo his pants easily. There’s soft whines filling the room, eager and nearly begging and when he looks down he realizes the sounds are pouring out of Rick by the gallon.

Rick doesn’t let up on the pouty look hidden behind his lashes when he leans forward and wraps his red lips around the pulsing head of Daryl’s dick. It’s nothing like the time on the couch, or the countless times Rick had done this when they were together, when he would hold Daryl by his bony hips and press him into the—whatever surface they could find.

“Look so good,” he finds himself gasping at the trickle of white-hot pressure spreading through his body and the sharp feeling he gets when Rick moans around him. “I’m going to _fuck_ —fuck you—you’re gonna _take_ it, ain’t ya?” Tears bead down Ricks face when he takes him further down his throat, nearly choking at the size. Rick wasn’t used to him being this big, sometime in the last fifteen years Daryl had bulked up, gotten thicker, longer. Daryl shoved him back with a wet slurp and a string of spit running from his slicked red lips to where Daryl’s cock springs free.

“Upstairs,” Daryl’s eyes are dark and gloomy, holding onto the expands of anger and bitterness he’s felt towards the man, coated in the desire to have him close. Rick raises to his teeth and turns on his heels, taking the stairs two at a time while Daryl follows casually. The power he suddenly has over the older man makes him feel big in his chest. His shoulders are sitting higher with an overwhelming sense to control. He knows control is what he needs as much as Rick knows it, he needs to feel like he gets a say in what happens between them even though he is painfully aware their future lays in Ricks hands alone.

Once they are caved in the privacy of the master bedroom, Rick undressed himself nearly frantically. He seems well prepared for this like it was his plan all along and it’s not until he lays himself out on the king-sized royal purple sheets that Daryl gets a flash of the base of a clear plug, soaked in shiny lube and nestled carefully between the soft salt and pepper of hair that seems to cover Ricks cheeks.

“ _Christ_ —that for me, darlin’?” He slides his fingers over the plug as Ricks' shoulders drop to the bed and he presses his hips higher. Daryl grabs ahold of the base and twists, testing the wetness before pulling it out slowly.

And fuck, the sound that rips through Rick is unlike any other he’s heard from the man. “Y-Yes,” He squirms, looking over his shoulder with his bottom lip tucked between his teeth. His eyes look green and cloudy, like the storm rumbling outside.

Daryl doesn’t waste any time, they will have plenty of it later, but right now, he’s uncomfortably hard. He takes a moment to marvel at the way Rick opens up around the plug before dropping the silicone to the mattress and pulling his soaked clothes from his body. The sudden air is cold on him, but he finds heat pressing himself up against Ricks back, painting his spine in sloppy kisses as he presses inside. He’s so over-coated in lube that Daryl finds no resistance, only a tight clinch and then a whimper from his lover.

Daryl takes him at a careful, slow pace, his hands pressing into the dimples of ricks lower back to hold him still. If someone would have told Daryl three months ago that he would be here, that Rick would be begging for it, he would have given them a new set of teeth after he knocked the first pair down their throat.

Because, Christ, Rick does _beg._

“Please—Please, Daryl, don’t stop, s’good, so good.” He’s got his hands on Daryl’s thighs to steady him because, with every brutal thrust, Daryl drags across his prostate harshly. He’s shaking and making sounds louder than Daryl has ever heard from the other man. Daryl adjusts his angle and reaches one hand up to wrap around the sheriff's throat, squeezing tightly around the sides to cut off the blood flow but not his oxygen.

It’s the final nail on the coffin because Rick goes silent and clenches down around him as he rides his orgasm with Daryl painting his insides in hot ropes and his teeth digging into the junction of his neck and shoulder.

It’s easily the best sex either of them have had, ever. Rick is radiating in the afterglow of it, coming down to settle in the silky purple bedding. “Why didn’t we do that sooner,” he laughs and rolls over, draping an arm around Daryl’s stomach and lays his head on his chest. Daryl taxes a moment to note the soft look on Ricks face, the content smile playing on his lips that he leans down to kiss slowly.

“Mm,” he sighs, letting his lids drift open to meet Ricks soft blue. “Ain’t fair, lookin’ at me like that, makin’ me fall in love all over again.” He tells him as he slides his fingers across Ricks cheek, sweeping away a few fallen lashes.

They lay like that for what feels like hours, sharing sleepy kisses, fleeting touches. Rick falls asleep and starts to drool on the pillow when Daryl finally pulls himself out of the bed. He fishes through Ricks dresser and pulls on a pair of soft pajama bottoms, cotton and a plane black. He heads downstairs, fleeing as light as air, tingling where his bare feet make contact with the cool hardwood.

He finds a bottle of wine in the cupboard with dust on it and decides it looks like it’s sat long enough, so he cracks it open, pours himself a glass and makes his way over to the sound system in the living room. There's a CD in the trey so he presses play and lets the house be filled with the soft works of Ray Lamontagne. It’s the most comfortable he’s ever felt, making his way through the kitchen, fishing out all the ingredients for some French toast which he makes with a soft sway of his hips, lulling himself to the sound of the music. He almost doesn’t notice the creek of the stairs behind him, or the soft patter of Rick making his way across the dining room in his boxers.

Daryl is working on his second glass of wine when he wraps his arms around his waist and kisses his shoulders lovingly. “Woke up and the bed was cold, thought you’d left.” He mumbles against his skin and kisses the side of his neck. It sends signals to Daryl’s skin that raises in goosebumps.

“Why don’t you put down that spatula, come dance with me. It is homecoming night after all.” Rick slides his hand up the length of his arm, making the soft hairs stand. He flips the toast out of the pan onto a plate and turns off the stove before turning.

They two-step around the kitchen to the song _Hannah_.

If Daryl Dixon could take a moment, any _moment_ to relive for the rest of his life, to go back to when he’s feeling weak, it would be this one.

_This moment right here._

And then, as quickly as it begins, it’s all over when the front door opens to Paul, Aaron plastered to his front with their mouths slotted together as they stumble in. It doesn’t register until Paul’s soft voice breaks the music in the room.

“D—Dad?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oi!! What did you guys think?!? How do you think Paul will react?! Also, did anyone listen to the song? I REALLY appreciate comments!!!

**Author's Note:**

> Pop, lock and drop a comment, I feed my demons with them.


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